The Importance of Being Dean
by CalamitySnidget
Summary: During a hunt, Dean is hit by a curse that takes a huge emotional toll on the brothers, and Sam might not be able to bear changing Dean back. They have to decide whether to reverse the spell or live with it, and what they choose will decide whether Dean's really meant to be a Winchester or not. Includes transformed!Dean with a twist & brotherly angst. Set mid-season two. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: I actually fell in love with Supernatural fan fiction before I ever watched the show (not sure what on earth took me so long) so I'm way overdue in posting a story of my own. This is one of two I have in progress right now, but this one's closer to completion, so it's going up first. _

_This weird tale came about because I was reading another story and thought I knew which direction the author might be going in. They didn't go that way at all; I was way off, but it had spawned an idea that wouldn't go away, so I wrote it myself! _

Disclaimer: All credit to Kripke & Crew, and to the fans that make reading and writing in this fandom so much fun!

* * *

**The Importance of Being Dean**

Chapter One

* * *

"I'm fine."

Sam scowled as his brother headed the Impala west on US 30 out of Boone, Iowa. That had been Dean's mantra for the last twelve hours. Sam kept asking though, and Dean wasn't changing his story.

They'd caught wind of a hunt in the Ledges State Park that had turned out to be a little more complicated than anticipated. The wendigo they'd expected to find terrorizing campers was there alright, but they discovered it'd been harnessed by a teenage pagan who'd been leeching power from the Native American mounds in the area to control the wendigo into attacking kids who'd teased her at school.

Course that hadn't sat too well with the local spirit population, and the pagan's interference had raised a Sauk guardian spirit that started its own brand of trouble in retaliation. Sam had found a purification ritual to use on the park grounds, and yesterday they'd headed out well before dusk to set up in an area they knew the wendigo - the local LEOs thought it was a bear - had been spotted during the last week. Crunching through fallen leaves, they'd chosen a small space between the trees a little ways off of a hiking trail, hopefully far enough from the public campsites to avoid attracting attention from anyone crazy enough to be camping in this weather. It was a cold Thursday in late November, so fortunately the park was barely populated, with more rangers on the acreage than guests. It smelled of slowly decaying vegetation, and the woods were damp from regular morning frosts that never got a chance to evaporate in the shade. The brothers both shivered and drew their coats tighter against the chilly air.

The ritual had to be done at sunset, which had put Dean on edge. He preferred hunting this particular monster in daylight. He walked a perimeter as the the sun touched the horizon, and Sam had started the ritual. And true to Winchester luck, the pagan had shown up with her 'pet' in tow.

Dean had barely managed to hold off the wendigo long enough for Sam to finish. It kept attacking in close quarters, so Dean couldn't get off a shot with the flare gun, but got a few decent slashes in with his blade while the pagan girl raged from the tree line. Then finally Sam tossed the last bundle of blessed herbs into his clay bowl of coals, and it'd sparked into the air in the directions of the north-south-east-west talismans they'd buried in the park earlier in the day. With a few last words, the pagan's binding magic on the wendigo broke, and suddenly Dean wasn't grappling with the monster anymore as it had turned and made straight for the girl.

Apparently wendigos were intelligent enough to get pissed off for being messed with.

Sam looked at Dean and his brother had stared back grimly. Neither enjoyed the sound of the girl's screams as the wendigo shredded her, but they'd argued about how to deal with the vengeful pagan when this was all over. They never liked the idea of putting down a human, but she was apparently remorseless and the type to kill again. Problem solved.

They hadn't spoken as her screams abruptly cut off, but raised their weapons at the same time, and twin flares rocketed off side by side into the wendigo's back. The monster roared in agony as it erupted in flames and was quickly consumed. What was left of its mutated corpse fell to the ground as a burned-out husk, where it smoked and steamed on the wet leaves.

Dean was about to slap his brother on the back for a job well done and suggest they toast the pagan's body and make for the nearest bar, when a ghostly shape flickered into being just ten feet ahead of them. Dean's gun was out and aimed instantly.

"The guardian spirit," Sam had breathed. "Are you loaded with salt?"

"Nope. Silver." Dean still kept the gun up. It made him feel safer even if it was ineffective. "Thought you said it was supposed to be benign or protective or some shit."

"She is."

According to lore, the Native American guardian was the ghost of a shaman or witch bound to the land by ancient ritual to look after the resting place of her people. It had appeared with its back to them, and she slowly turned, long hair framing a face blackened with charcoal in mourning for her dead. She was young and thin, and wore a plain black dress with little shape to it. She stared at Sam, who began to feel uncomfortable as her stern gaze bored into him. She'd started to speak, but it was in her native language. From the pitch of the sound, she was asking a question.

"You get any of that?" Dean asked from the side of his mouth, gun remaining level.

"Uh, no, sorry." Sam shifted a bit closer to his brother. "Doesn't seem like she's attacking. As far as we've been able to tell, she hasn't actually been causing any of the deaths."

"Yeah, well I ain't taking any chances. Time to beat a retreat, Sammy," Dean had said, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the spirit. "The scene'll keep. We'll come back tomorrow to take care of the pagan bitch's body and bring plenty of rock salt in case this one shows up again."

It wasn't ideal, but not seeing another option, Sam had nodded, and they'd started backing away slowly.

A sharp pronouncement from the guardian stopped them in their tracks. Suddenly she was closer, nearly in Sam's face as she spoke again demandingly, still in her native tongue. She had asked another question, this time gesturing at Dean, but still looking at the younger Winchester.

"I'm sorry! We can't understand you," Sam floundered. "We were helping stop that monster...you should be able to rest again now."

The guardian had cocked her head, once again looking them over intently, then nodded sharply; decisively. She hadn't looked angry, and they'd started to think this would end peaceable, when her hand had suddenly shot up straight towards Dean's chest. An orange light left her palm, curled around him like a wraith, and sank into the hunter before he could dodge.

"What the hell!" he'd shouted.

Dean reacted, firing two rapid shots that passed harmlessly though the guardian, and Sam had his reloaded flare gun back out and aimed. The guardian spirit had just nodded at them again, this time looking pleased, spoke a couple last words, and vanished with a breeze that clattered empty tree branches together.

"What was that! What did she do?" Sam panicked, checking Dean over even as his older brother tried to shove him off.

"I have no idea, but I'm fine. I don't feel weird or anything."

"That doesn't mean it was nothing!"

Sam was making attempts to check Dean's pupils, like creepy spirit mojo was going to be visible there. Dean stepped on Sam's toes when he spun out of reach. Totally not on purpose.

"It means whatever she tried didn't work! C'mon, Sammy, she's gone, so we've got a job to finish."

"She didn't look like she thought she messed up, Dean! Whatever she meant to do, we've gotta assume it worked!"

"Sam! I'm okay, alright? Let's go."

Sam had grumbled the entire trek to the car and back to get a bag of rock salt from the trunk, continuously watching Dean for signs of a curse or spell. Dean kept brushing Sam off, and Sam's foot _might_ have gotten stepped on a few more times, but Dean'd been hiding his own concern. Sam had a point when he said they should assume the magic had worked. But he felt fine; completely normal. At least nothing was tingling or falling off or changing colors.

And he couldn't fight a curse before he knew what it was. So he figured if the orange light was gonna do anything, he'd deal with it when it happened.

They'd made quick work of burning the pagan's corpse and went back to their motel to shower. When Sam came out of the bathroom, the motel room was empty, but apparently Dean's inclination for a night out had died, cause he'd come back through the door a little while later with a couple diner to-go boxes and a plastic sack bearing the logo of a nearby quickie mart.

He pulled a six-pack out of the bag, catching the cardboard corners on the thin plastic before it came free, and grabbed a beer. The glass bottle was already sweating thanks to the determined old heater clunking away under the window, making the room smell of heating element and getting it slightly toastier than was actually comfortable.

Sam had tried turning it down their first night in the room, but it was stuck on the one temperature. Sam'd sweated and complained. Dean'd called him a sissy and told him to be glad it worked at all since the motel was probably a thousand years old. Sam told Dean that was ridiculous, since electric heaters weren't invented a thousand years ago, and Dean had hit Sam in the head with a tiny shampoo.

Dean claimed one of the to-go boxes, popped open his beer, and settled on his bed with the remote. Sam opened his mouth, but with another "Shut it, Sam, I'm _fine_," Dean had flicked on the TV and effectively ended the conversation for the night. Sam pursed his lips in frustration, grabbed his laptop, and had spent the rest of the evening researching Native American guardian magic.

According to what little he'd found, the Sauk guardian drew her magic from nature, and it wasn't inherently either good or evil. Whether the results of the magic were beneficial or destructive depended on her intentions, and since the uses for natural magic were practically infinite, Sam had no obvious way to find out what the purpose of that particular spell had been. It made him nervous, and he didn't sleep well.

They'd gotten up early the next morning and packed, ready to blow town. Dean took them through a drive-thru and ordered tacos for breakfast, dropping the paper sack smelling of chili-flavored grease and cheese onto Sam's lap. Breakfast of champions, indeed.

There was really no point in going back to the park, since they weren't sure how to make the protective spirit manifest again now that her reason for being raised was gone. Dean still seemed okay, so he was willing to call himself lucky and move on, but Sam kept arguing that they needed to know what the guardian had done. He wanted to go to Bobby's to check out the older hunter's library and be sure everything was alright.

Now, headed out of Boone, Sam was still trying to make his case.

"Dean, just cause nothing's happened yet doesn't mean it won't," he protested, squeezing a little packet of sauce onto a taco for Dean while his brother drove. "We're only four hours away from Bobby's. Please let's just stop by and have him take a look to make sure."

The thoughtful set set to Dean's face told Sam he was close to getting his way. He handed Dean his taco, licked his fingers clean of fire sauce, and went in for the kill.

"We haven't had a weekend off in a while anyway, and it's not like we aren't already headed that direction. I bet Bobby would even break out his grill for us if we asked him. Or maybe a late Thanksgiving. A few home-cooked meals would be nice..."

Dean shot a look at Sam's perfectly innocent face. The kid was playing dirty.

He heaved a sigh. "Fine. But only cause you're such a girl that you won't stop worrying until I say yes."

Sam grinned as Dean used one hand to turn north onto the still two-lane 169. It would add half an hour to their trip to Sioux Falls, but they had less chance of running into state patrol. Their brush with the law in Baltimore earlier that month was enough to last them for a while.

* * *

A little over four hours later, after the crumpled taco papers had been joined on the floor by an army of little empty White Castle boxes, they were pulling into Bobby's salvage yard, through the graveyard of cars and up to the old house.

Sam slammed his way out of the passenger side, trying to escape the argument Dean had somehow managed to keep going for the last fifteen miles.

"All I'm saying, Sammy," Dean was saying in a rare lighthearted tone as he emerged from the other side of the car, "is that he was perfectly justified. Any good hunter knows the signs of an enemy about to strike. And if you don't wanna get taken, you do what you gotta."

Sam whirled back around just as Dean had known he would. The younger Winchester had always been too easy to rile up.

"It's _Sam_. And I never said he wasn't justified!" Sam whined and Dean grinned. How had they even gotten on this topic? "I just said that kids watch it too, and that it makes sense from a film standpoint that they changed it! It made Han more sympathetic."

"Sure, whatever. Doesn't change the fact that everyone knows that he really shot first."

Sam saw Bobby heading towards them from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag, and leapt at the chance to end the conversation. He knew Dean was intentionally messing with him.

"Hey, Bobby!" he greeted the older man in a tone that was less 'hello,' and more 'save me!' "D'you mind if we stay a few days and use your library? How much have you got on Native American spirit magic?"

"You know yer welcome here, Sam," Bobby affirmed. "Heard tell a crossroads demon down south got bamboozled couple weeks back. That you?"

Sam grimaced at the memory of the nerve wracking hunt, and glanced at Dean, who'd fetched their duffles out of the trunk and was coming over with one in each hand. "Yeah. That one was a little rough."

The elder Winchester reached them and nodded hello to Bobby, who was watching him curiously. "How's it going, Bobby?" Dean handed Sam his bag. "Okay, Encyclopedia Brown, go get your groove on so we can prove there's nothing wrong with me and I can get some grub." He winked at Bobby.

The boys turned to head for the house. But the next thing out of their long-time friend's mouth drew them back to a startled halt.

"Who's this?" Bobby was asking. "You hunting with a partner now, Sam? Cause I can't say it wouldn't set my mind at ease some."

Sam and Dean both stared at Bobby, their cheer melting slowly away. They looked at each other in confusion.

"What?" Sam sputtered.

"Yer friend here." Bobby's eyebrows raised, and there was no question that he meant Dean. "Ain'tcha gonna introduce me?"

* * *

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone still reading this! Hope you enjoy._

* * *

_"Yer friend here." Bobby's eyebrows raised, and there was no question that he meant Dean. "Ain'tcha gonna introduce me?"_

**Chapter Two**

"You're joking, right?" Dean attempted a grin, but the humor was missing. The nervous looks between the brothers were flying faster now.

"Course he's joking! C'mon, Bobby, tell him."

Bobby looked from one of them to the other. He scratched his head through the cap. "Uh, love to, kid, but..."

Dean's face fell. Sam saw it and knew Dean wasn't gonna take whatever was happening well. He turned back to Bobby with desperation in his voice. "Bobby, how the hell can you not remember him! You know me but not my brother? It's Dean! You've known both of us since we were kids...Dean!"

The old gruff hunter looked sharply at Dean as soon as Sam blurted out his name, and a hint of comprehension lit his features. He spoke in a calming tone. "Did you say something earlier about Native American magic?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Of course. I should of realized as soon as you..." He whirled to face Dean, who was catching on as well. "I _told_ you that light did something," he crowed before explaining to Bobby. "He got hit with some glowy orange curse or something-" _here Dean made a face and mouthed 'glowy?'_ "-by a guardian spirit on the hunt we just finished. Okay, so it worked some mojo to, what? Make people forget who Dean is?"

"Sam-"

"And it probably didn't work on me cause I was there at the time."

"Sam, that ain't it." Bobby sounded certain enough to steal away the wind in Sam's sails.

Sam trailed off and Dean stepped forward. He swallowed down his discomfort at having one of the only people on planet earth who gave a crap about him look at him like a stranger. "Why not?" he barked.

Bobby opened his mouth, looked into Dean's eyes and Sam's, then shut it again.

Dean dropped his duffle to the gravel and took an aggressive step forward. "You know something, Bobby. Spit it out."

"Let's go sit down inside ... maybe I should talk to Sam alone-"

"No, Bobby," Dean's voice was a low growl. "I'm pretty damn curious why you suddenly don't recognize me after all these years, and you sound like the man with the answer. I came here to have a hot meal; get _away_ from the hunt for a spell, and now I'm getting cranky. So if you have something to say, you tell us both. Now."

Bobby's gaze on Dean was calculating, and he looked over at Sam, checking for agreement. The young man's expression was only slightly softer than Dean's, and just as expectant. Bobby ground his teeth, sure from what he'd seen so far that his view of the situation wasn't going to be well received. Of course, biting his tongue solved nothing.

"I know that John and Mary Winchester only ever had one son. And I know 'Dean' is the name of the dog Sam got near the end of his second year at Stanford." Bobby cleared his throat. "That mutt never leaves your side. Where's your dog, Sam?"

The two stared at him for a beat, confused, absorbing. Then Dean went white as a sheet. Was he saying... _What? _

"I don't have a dog," Sam retaliated stubbornly.

"I think you do," came the blunt reply, "but something happened and you don't remember. I think he's standing next to you in a brand new shape."

Sam gaped. "You think _Dean_ is really...you think we're the ones being affected by the spell."

"Seems likely."

"That's...no." Sam looked at Dean, still standing there pale and silent. It clearly brought to mind a memory of their dad mentioning once in a rare moment of openness that Dean hadn't talked for two weeks after their mom died. His brother shouted when he was angry or afraid, but always had a tendency to get quiet when he was truly upset. He _knew_ Dean. Could remember their lives together. How could that not be real?

"How can you be so sure it's us that remember wrong and not you?" Sam challenged, unconvinced. "It's gotta be easier to make you forget him than create a brand new person!"

"Sorry, but that just ain't possible." Bobby fished a tangle of charms hanging on a string round his neck up from under his shirt and held up one of them. "Tibetan. Strong as they come. Blocks any unwanted mind-magic no matter how powerful. Don't want nothin fiddling around with my grapefruit."

Dean didn't know that his heart could fall further, but it did. It all made an unfortunate kind of sense, and that meant...he wasn't real. His entire life was nothing but implanted memories, and yesterday - _yesterday!_ - he'd just been a dog? Sam's _pet_ with delusions of grandeur.

Sam's face crumpled like a child's trying to work out how to still get their way. "Maybe...maybe your charm is part of the spell...to try to convince us..." he protested hoarsely, the argument sounding weak even to his ears, but unable or unwilling to let go of any chance Bobby was wrong.

The older hunter raised an eyebrow. "A memory spell on you two makes an anti-memory charm appear on the neck of some random hunter a couple hundred miles away?" he gave Sam's back an awkward pat. "You know that don't hold water. I'm sorry, Sam. I don't know what all that spirit filled your head with, but I know this must be tough to hear, kid."

Tough on _Sam?_

Bobby'd always been the one person to make sure he never put one brother over the other. If they weren't there already, that alone convinced them he really had zero recognition of Dean.

Sam turned horror-stricken eyes to his brother, who was refusing to make eye contact with anyone, his face a stone. "Dean..." he whispered beseechingly.  
Dean just shook his head, too caught up in coming to grips with what they'd just heard. How was he even supposed to assimilate something like this? He was a fake-person? The big brother in him wanted to comfort Sam, reassure him, but for once he didn't know how. Dean wasn't Sam's brother - never had been.

They stood there, staring at one another stupidly, nothing to say in the newness of confusing, devastating, unacceptable, undeniable truth.

Thankfully Bobby was willing to take control. "Well, c'mon inside, the both of you. We'll take a look and see if we can get this thing figured out."

Dean made a sound of wordless agreement, picked up his duffle (it must've just been fabricated as part of the spell; why would a dog need clothes, after all) and followed Bobby into the house, Sam trailing after them helplessly.

They both blinked stepping out of the cold sun into the dim warmth of the entry. Dean fought down the weird feeling he got walking over the creaking floorboards into Bobby's library. The comfortable familiarity of the closest place he'd had to a home was conflicting with the new knowledge that he'd never really read any of those books...never cleaned guns in that kitchen...never snuck down those stairs as a kid to listen to Bobby and his dad - _fake-dad!_ - working a hunt...never stood under this roof on two feet.

He dropped his bag by the door with a thunk and went to sink down on the couch, careful to avoid the spot with the busted spring that he knew - _he knew every inch of this place, dammit!_ - was there. Allowing himself a moment of self-pity, he bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut against the emotions threatening to get the better of him. He had to keep it together for Sammy. Couldn't make this harder than it had to be on his brother when he was already only seeing one way that this would end.

And then everything would go back to the normal they couldn't remember. A boy and his dog. Shit. He hummed a little Metallica under his breath.

_Get it together, man. It just means all the fucked up shit you've been through never happened. That's a_ good _thing._

His inner voice did a sucky job being convincing.

He felt Sam's hesitant hand land briefly on his shoulder, gone again before Dean could shrug it away. Angst was rolling off the younger hunter in waves. "Dean, you know it doesn't matter, right?" Sam's voice was stressed. "I don't care if it was a spell, I really don't...you're my brother, okay?" A weak smile. "My pain in the ass big brother."

Dean tamped his own anxiety back down enough to lift his head. He wanted to scream that of _course_ it mattered! It was _unfair!_ Instead he managed a halfway comforting grin. And he lied. "Yeah, I know, Sam."

Sam relaxed minutely, but he still looked worried.

Why shouldn't he be? Just fifteen minutes ago their world had been fine. They'd finished a hunt and been headed toward some good food and hopefully a little down time. Now they couldn't even rely on their own memories. Were facing the fact that the oldest Winchester wasn't Sam's brother at all, wasn't even human, but an animal turned into a man and stuffed full of an invented history. Who could blame them for being a little rattled.

Okay, a lot rattled.

Bobby'd disappeared into the kitchen and was re-emerging with three open bottles. Doubtless holy water laced. He handed one to Sam and held another bottle towards Dean. "I'm guessing you're a man that could use a beer right about now," he said.

"M'not a man," Dean muttered, but he accepted the beer and drank deeply.

Sam glanced at Bobby when he caught the words, expecting to see Bobby looking just as worried as Sam felt. They'd shared that burden from time to time when Dean became too self-sacrificing or was walling up too many emotions. Then it'd be down to the two of them to either deal with the fallout or force the older Winchester to remember they cared about him. Sam was caught off guard when the concern he'd been sure to find wasn't there. The man wasn't looking at Dean like a surrogate son, but more like the next hunt that needed figuring out. The pit of his stomach rumbled uncomfortably as it hit home all over again that Bobby really didn't know Dean at all. One look at his brother on the couch, and he knew Dean had already taken note.

He had to find a way to make this better. For Dean's sake. Dean had to understand that Sam needed his brother, no matter how he came into existence, and maybe understanding the spell was a starting point. He headed purposefully to the nearest bookshelf and started scanning the titles for anything useful.

Dean recognized Sam's determined 'work the problem' look, and his expression tightened. He knew what they had to do, he just hadn't expected Sam to be in quite such a hurry. But no, Sam had enough supernatural shit to deal with; of course the last thing he needed was a cursed freak for a fake brother. Best to take care of this as quickly as possible. Like a band-aid. Dean just hoped he wouldn't remember any of it once the curse broke and he was a dog again. That would suck.

_C'mon, Dean. Focus on the job._ He took another pull of his beer and asked Bobby, "I guess you wanna hear what happened?"

"Yer story might be a little corrupted by the memory effects of the curse, but tell me what you remember."

Dean took a breath and launched into a narrative of the hunt while Sam, only having located one useful-looking book so far, sank onto the couch next to Dean to unpack and boot up his laptop while his brother gave Bobby the play-by-play.

Sam chimed in at the end of Dean's recount to tell Bobby about the little he'd been able to find online about Sauk magic.

Bobby listened thoughtfully, and then nodded. "Sounds like yer guardian friend's definitely responsible."

"So is it just me and Sam's memories being affected? No one I remember knowing will have a clue who I am?"

"I'm not so sure. You said the curse just hit you, right? Not Sam?" He set his bottle on the corner of the desk and started pulling volumes out of a small stack on the the floor by the fireplace, handing them off to Sam. Bobby's personal filing system was a mystery only the man himself fully understood.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, taking the books and quickly moving with his laptop to the desk to begin paging through them. "It didn't touch me at all."

"You've obviously been affected though. I'd guess the curse is centered on Dean, but's designed to expand and change the history of anyone that comes in contact with you. Magic like that seems like the kind that don't want to be discovered." Bobby paused his perusal of another bookshelf and fingered the charm at his neck again. "Probably if I didn't have this on, I'd have got a new batch of memories soon as I laid eyes on him."

"So I'm the outbreak monkey giving everyone I _think_ I've met magic cooties. Awesome."

Bobby looked strangely at the young man on his couch. "Sure, if that's how you wanna think of it."

"But why even do it at all? What's the point? If it weren't for your amulet and you remembering the way things used to be, we may never have figured out what the curse even did!" Sam wondered aloud.

"Damned if I know. Could be that you not suspecting anything's different until it's too late is the point. She created him; maybe she can manipulate or control him too."

"What!" Dean was horrified at the idea. If something was pulling his strings there was no way he could trust himself around Sam. "Like a golem?"

"Naw. Those're never flesh and blood to start. More like she built ya an identity from the chassis up, so she coulda left instructions buried in your subconscious."

"A sleeper agent," Dean caught on.

Bobby nodded. "Basically. And we have no idea what'll trigger you or when."

"But if we turn me back, that part goes away too, right? I won't go all Cujo or anything?"

"It's safe to assume. It's probably all one spell tied together."

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded tightly. "Well, okay then. I ain't gonna play Raymond to her queen of diamonds any longer than we can help it, so let's solve this thing"

"No."

The coldness in Sam's voice grabbed their attention, and Bobby and Dean both looked over at the desk. "What?"

"No," Sam said again. "That's not what you are."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You wanna share with the class what makes you so sure? Cause I'm the one we're talking about and I wouldn't put money on anything right now."

Sam made a face. "I just know, okay? You're not dangerous."

Dean looked offended for a second, and Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean, okay, you can be dangerous, but not because of this."

The other two in the room looked unconvinced.

"What's your theory then, Sam?" Dean asked. "Gimme something."

"I'm working on it." Sam moved the first book in his stack into a reject pile with a sigh and opened the next. "But you tell me - if the guardian wanted to hurt me, why not just do it? Why waste time with the spell?"

"It sorta makes sense. Sauk religion is full of anthropomorphic figures; man and beast as one. She would have seen Dean as a perfect candidate for her magic. Could be this spell is one o'her specialties." Bobby took two more books off the desk and held one out to Dean. "There's only one way to find out for sure. Get reading." He drew the book back for a second. "You can read, right?"

Sam snorted.

Dean scowled and yanked the book out of Bobby's hand.

Bobby shrugged. "Don't blame me. Yer the first dog I've met who could."

Dean grumbled a bit under his breath, but he opened the book. He was a little disturbed by the way the old hunter kept referring to him, but Bobby was right. He _couldn't_ blame him.

He could blame that ghost bitch though and her freaky spell. _Stupid protection spirits._ They were always jumping to the wrong conclusions. No reason for her to get vengeful on his ass just cause Sam'd gone hunting in her woods. Hell, a thank you for getting rid of the wendigo wouldn't have been out of line.

He reached down and scratched absently at an itch on his ankle. Then he noticed what he was doing and made a face. Dammit, he'd better not have fleas. That'd be all he'd need.

Dean cursed his luck. He should've stayed a mindless pet. Or, even if she had to turn him human for whatever nasty purpose, why'd she have to give him all these memories? Make him care about Sammy, and make Sam care about him? It was cruel. But she'd stuck her witchy hand in, and now his head was gonna be screwed up about it for the rest of however long this lasted.

Which wouldn't be very long if he had anything to say about it. The longer the spell lasted, the longer Sammy was in danger. The longer he had be aware of what he was doomed to lose. He needed things over and done.

* * *

They'd lapsed into a quietness filled only with the rustle of dusty books, the scratch of Bobby's pencil and the tapping of the laptop keyboard.

An hour or so passed, and Dean's mind had drifted. He wasn't a researcher; that was Sam's bag, but he knew how to focus and work a case, and fake-him had never been this distracted before.

He stared into space about as often as he stared at the words in front of him.

There were so many things he didn't know about himself now. He couldn't imagine a dog's life being that interesting, but he wanted to know some of the basics. For the last ten minutes, he'd been watching Bobby from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out how to ask.

"What kind-er-what breed was I?" Dean fumbled finally.

The other two jumped at the suddenly broken silence. Dean reddened. "Sorry. I just was wondering."

Bobby looked at the transformed man. There was still stress in his voice, but curiosity too, so the worst of the shock was fading at least. Sam's attention had caught as well, and he was paused over his computer, watching quietly.

"Please tell me at least I wasn't one of those little fluffy yappy things."

Bobby shook his head. "You're a mix. German Shepard and Husky, I think. Pretty big dog. Strong and fast as hell. Kinda a patchy colored coat with mostly gold."

"Well, that's not bad. I bet I was cool looking." Dean nodded and glanced at Sam, who pursed his lips. "What else?"

Anyone who didn't know him, which currently included Bobby, might've been convinced by the carefree tone. Sam knew Dean was faking it; sighing when he recognized the signs of Dean using humor to cover up his insecurity. He wanted to ignore the conversation-who cared what kind of dog had been the first building block for the spell when Sam's every intention was to keep the result? Unfortunately, his curiosity was revving too.

Bobby was obligingly trying to remember more of what Sam had told him about their history at Stanford.

"Sam said he got you from one of his professors whose dog had a litter end of his second year. The prof was trying to find homes for the pups and Sam had a lonely one-bedroom, so it was a done deal. He said he picked you cause you were the gutsiest one in the litter. Climbed right up onto his lap straightaway and demanded all the attention."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other and averted their eyes again just as quickly. Dean wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed.

"Sam spoils you something rotten, too. He always liked dogs, but John never allowed 'em. I supposed I wasn't too surprised the first time he showed up with you."

"That much sounds about right," Dean muttered.

Sam stared at him. "What about that sounds _right_, Dean!?"

"Oh, come on, Sammy. It's true Dad never let you have a dog. You begged him enough times growing up, at least according to what I remember. So when you went all 'me and my own way' off to Stanford, of course you'd get one as soon as the opportunity came along."

"But the dog we're talking about me getting was you, you jerk!" Sam cried, slamming the book beside him shut in frustration and grabbing at yet another.

Dean and Bobby stared at him mutely until he ducked his head. "Sorry, Bobby, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around this 'the way things used to be' stuff. You gotta realize how weird this is to us."

"Sure, cause it's weird for me too. Y'know, I'm the one that remembers how things are supposed to be," Bobby pointed out, not un-sympathetically. "I didn't exactly get up this morning supposing I'd be having a conversation with your hunting dog. Who not only apparently knows me well, but is sitting on my couch lookin' like an extra Winchester!"

Sam huffed, but Dean's attention perked and he cracked a wry half-grin. "Hunting dog, huh?"

Bobby nodded. "Why on earth d'you think you'd be out on a hunt with Sam if you were just a pet? I never saw you til a while after Sam got back into the life, but by then you'd turned into a damn fine one. Best tracker I ever saw, too. You took to it like a natural with hardly any training as I understand it."

Dean grinned. "Course I did!"

Sam gave his brother a weird look. He frowned thoughtfully. "Wait, why _did_ I get back into the life? The way I-we-remember it now, Dean came to get me after our dad hadn't been heard from in a while. Dean wanted my help looking for him, and then when we got back..." Sam swallowed, leaning forward. "Bobby, I dated a girl named Jessica in our version, and the demon that killed our mom came back... Did I know her for real? Is she...?" he choked and cut off.

Bobby's apologetic face was all the answer Sam needed, and his shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you still dated her. The demon got in one night while you were out taking Dean for a walk. When you couldn't get a hold of yer dad right after and there weren't any good leads on the demon to follow, you stole this junker of a car and started hunting your way across the lower forty-eight on a vengeance kick. Little scary to watch. I was sure you were gonna get yourself killed, but at least you had a dog with one hell of a protective instinct with you, and I sent other hunters your way as backup when I could. Not that you always accepted their help." His eyebrows creased in thought. "The curse probably isn't strong enough to change whether anyone lived or died; it's just the circumstances that you remember different."

Sam gave a short nod, eyes pained. At least he knew though that by keeping Dean human, he wasn't killing his first love. She'd have been lost either way.  
Dean had seen the hope flicker briefly to life in his brother, and wished for Sam's sake something good had come out of this mess and Jess could've somehow escaped her death. It killed him to see that hope die again just as fast.

He guessed he was glad the magic wasn't that strong, or he'd go crazy wondering about the alternative fates of the people he'd met on hunts. Especially his solo hunts. Their dad must've just called in other hunters to help with the jobs Dean remembered doing alone while Sam was at school. Or maybe they were just memories of people and hunts that never even existed. It made him feel useless.

His curiosity evaporated and he was back to nursing his depression.

He mostly tuned out as Bobby started recounting the story of some hunt Sam and dog-him had gone on. He paid just enough attention to fake a chuckle in the appropriate places, but his heart wasn't in it.

Dean flipped pages listlessly, not sure what he was even looking for. Who cared why some bunch of Indians believed in this god or that one? He _knew_ he was dangerous if he stayed human. It was just how his luck worked.

All they needed to find was a way to reverse the curse.

So that he could spend the rest of his life eating dog food and crapping outside. This was really starting to blow.

* * *

Sam listened to Bobby's story, but he was watching Dean. His face had closed off again and he was no longer making any effort to fake a positive mood.

Sam was worried.

Not just because of what Dean must be dealing with, but because Sam was starting to get the impression Dean didn't think he was going to stay human. He could see that self-sacrificing glint in Dean's eye already.

As far as Sam was concerned, the memories he had right now were the only ones that mattered. Whatever'd come before, this was their reality now, and they'd deal with anything that came along, as long as they both were human. And if he couldn't make Dean see that...Sam was terrified he was going to lose his brother.

* * *

_To be continued._

_Please review! I'd love to hear what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note - Thank you so much to those who reviewed! I'm glad you're enjoying this and hope you'll like what comes next!_

_Have I mentioned my update schedule can be a little irregular? Please forgive me the wait - this chapter is more wordy and introspective, and it gave me some trouble. The next chapter will be more exciting! Probably about 3 or 4 more to post before it's done._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Dean had been coming to Bobby's house since he'd been a kid, and he'd never felt as weird around the man as he did now. It was the Bobby he remembered, and yet it wasn't.

Same hunter, same sarcasm and rough around the edges manner. And when he was talking to Sam, same gruff but paternal affection. Just...when he was talking to Dean...

He was welcoming under the circumstances, but there was a touch of natural suspicion and evaluation in his eyes that the Bobby created in Dean's memories never aimed at him before. The taciturn hunter was feeling Dean's personality out for himself, and he was friendly enough, but probably only because he wanted to help solve the riddle of the curse, and he was thinking of Dean as the pet he'd known for a year or so.

Nearly every other question or comment from Bobby was throwing it back in Dean's face that, as a human, he was as good as a stranger to the man, and it was beginning to wear. So late afternoon when Dean's eyes started to swerve across the page in protest of too much time spent staring at one useless book after another, he decided to use the excuse of needing a break to escape the house for a little while.

He stepped out onto the porch and stretched, taking a deep breath of the fresh air and pretending for a second they were here researching some random case -_ a kelpie would be cool; never hunted one of those before._ Yeah, a kelpie in Lake Michigan. Bobby would let them know how to kill it, Sam would bitch about getting his boots wet, and Dean would gank the bastard.

Why couldn't life be simple?

From the corner of his eye he saw Bobby's watchdog shuffle to its feet and watch Dean's progress down the front steps. He couldn't remember its name. He'd never been much of a dog person.

Irony was an evil son of a bitch.

The thing watched him for a while as Dean headed off between piles of hub caps and other rusted parts, gave one half-hearted _woof_ and went back to its nap.

* * *

Two hours later, Sam found Dean sitting on the Impala with their father's journal in both hands on his lap, just staring at it.

It was where he'd ended up after a couple laps through the salvage yard. He'd come out to escape and clear his head, but hadn't been able to turn off his thoughts, so tried venting a little frustration. And if a few rusted metal barrels behind the repair garage had a few new dents in them, well, Dean doubted Bobby would notice.

Sam lowered himself next to Dean, thinking vaguely of the million other times he could remember sitting with his brother on the hood of this car and he wondered how those days had really gone.

"Bobby said he'd take care of dinner. I think he's going to fry up some pork chops." Dean loved Bobby's pork chops, so the old hunter usually made it a point to cook them while the boys were there. Sam wished Bobby hadn't had to be told that.

He didn't say anything else. Sam knew if Dean was in the mood to talk, it was best to just stay quiet and wait. He just relaxed where he was, one leg crossed over the other. He used his fingernail to pick tiny pieces of gravel out of his boot treads like it was the most vital thing they had going today.

A few minutes passed without words; just the occasional wail of a local freight train and the faint 'plinks' of Sam's reaping of little stones being tossed against an ancient manifold leaning on a scrap heap within missile range. He scored a pebble into opening of one of the manifold tubes and listened to it rattle through the metal for a second or two before its momentum was lost. Dean watched for a little while, and then abruptly patted a hand on the cover of the journal once and handed it to Sam like he was relinquishing something that didn't belong to him.

"Dad never knew me." Dean's voice was low, calm. "Mom either. Whatever this curse is, it's a safe bet it doesn't extend to changing the memories of the dead, wherever they both are now."

Sam hadn't thought about that. He mentally fumbled, trying to come up with something, anything, to contradict this latest of unwelcome realizations, but there was nothing.

"You were their only kid. They don't... but I can remember..." Dean ran a hand over his face; Sam recognized the gesture that meant Dean was struggling to keep his emotions in check. "...I remember everything dad taught me and my first hunt with him. And mom putting me to bed and the way she'd do this little dance with the broom when she was sweeping the kitchen. But it's a fucking con. Sam, they never even met me."

During that speech Dean hadn't looked at Sam. He didn't want to see the pity.

Even in the midst of bemoaning his own situation, it felt like he'd stolen Sam's real life. _I was the one that told Sam stories about what mom was like when he was a kid. Now he's stuck with fake memories too cause I got myself cursed. And now he knows everything I told him was probably a lie._

Shoulder to shoulder, they stared at the dirt. Sam knew it was weak, but, "Dad probably knew you."

Dean snorted. "As what? Your pet pooch? Yeah, that doesn't count."

Sam finally spun off of the Impala's hood to stand in his brother's face, forcing Dean to look at him. "Okay, that's fair, but the point is, _you_ remember _them_. History's just perception anyway, right?" Here Dean threw him a 'bullshit detected' look, but Sam forged on.

"A lot of your other memories seemed to be based close to the truth, so I gotta assume your memories of mom and dad are too. And that stuff about mom? Sometimes I can't even remember her face without looking at a picture; she died when I was so young. If it were me, I'd take fake memories of her any day over none at all."

"You're acting like this doesn't even matter to you," Dean rasped.

"It _doesn't_!" Sam cried. "I get that knowing the truth sucks for you...I can't even imagine...but I told you already, you're my brother now, and that's that. If I could switch our places right now-"

Dean's eyes widened and he straightened like a thousand volts had just rushed through him. "Don't you dare say that! You're important, Sammy - to a hell of a lot more people than I am. If it was gonna be one of us, then it makes sense I'm the made up person. I'm pretty worthless in the grand scheme of the world, y'know," he shrugged. _No connections - I was gonna hunt my little while and be gone - and this explains why. A crappy little existence must be easier to abracadabra. _

Sam frowned. "You don't really think you're worthless, do you?" He ignored the sneering voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he'd nearly told Dean something similar himself once or twice. _I never meant it, I was just...angry? Needing to make a point? Not getting my way?_ It sounded pathetic even in his head.

"No, not _worthless_," defended Dean in a voice that sounded like he didn't entirely believe it. "But if I go back to being Citizen Dog, no loss, no gain." A different tone colored his next words. "It's stupid, but I always thought what we do was kind of noble-hunting. At least I was saving people." Dean was now having a hard time concealing the bitterness in his voice. "But apparently I've made no difference whatsoever."

"How can you say saving people isn't making a difference!"

"Were you even listening in there? No one's any more saved or any more dead whether I'm human or not."

Sam made his 'you're being an idiot and now I have to enunciate slowly' face. "Because you didn't exist!" He ignored Dean's flinch. "They're just memories, Dean. And, yeah, they're based on what happened and who got saved without you really hunting. But maybe if you'd been born human and grown up like we remember, you could have stopped even more monsters. And now you have a chance to do that."

The sad smile Dean gave him made Sam's heart shatter.

"I doubt I'll be around on two legs long enough to have a chance at doing much of anything. They're pretty words, Sammy, but they won't mean a damn if every hour I'm human I'm putting you in danger. Sleeper agent, remember?"

"It's Sam," he said firmly. "And you're assuming. I'm going to find that spell, Dean, and _if_ that's what this is, we'll find a way to deal with it; neutralize it or whatever. I promise."

Sam held the leather journal back out to Dean, waiting stubbornly until Dean accepted it with a sigh.

"Here I thought you were the damsel of our little operation. Do I need to find a tower to sit on top of so you can rescue me from that, too?" Dean batted his eyes.

Sam laughed, which had been Dean's goal, so score one for him on the not entirely worthless scale. He may only be one day old, but he knew how to handle emo-Sasquatch better than anyone alive.

The conversation hadn't been a cure. He still had enough anguish built up to keep a whole convention of therapists in business for a lifetime. But he'd been turned into a hunter, and if there was one thing hunters knew how to do, it was bury the pain.

This would just be another in a long line of mental closets that he'd be losing the key for.

"Now did you say something about pork chops?"

* * *

Dinner was a little subdued. Sam was dividing his attention between the book he had propped next to his plate and trying to somehow reassure Dean by acting like everything was normal. Dean and Bobby spoke little; Bobby's little protection charm ensuring they had no way to relate to each other. Everyone was feeling uncomfortable by the time they dumped their dishes in the sink, and while Sam wasted no time escaping back to Bobby's desk, Dean was less enthused about more dull hours flipping through musty pages.

Since his walk earlier had done squat to clear his head, he needed to focus on something else for at least a little while.

Bobby was headed out to the floodlight-illuminated garage, since he did have a business to run, so Dean grabbed his coat, pushed through the back door and jogged after him.

He found the older hunter leaning under the hood of a '70 Plymouth Cuda in rough shape. Once upon a time it'd been white, but most of the paint had gone, and the matching white leather interior was cracked and badly yellowed. Even so... _It's a good thing I'm in a committed relationship, or I'd get in trouble taking you out for a spin, sexy_, Dean told the car. He gave a low whistle. "Nice. Whoever owns her ought to be charged with abuse, though."

Bobby jumped and banged his head on the underside of the hood. "Damnit, boy," he cursed, emerging from the car with trucker cap askew. He straighten his hat with a rough jerk. "I oughta whip yer backside for sneaking' up on an old man."

Dean grinned. This sounded more like the Bobby who'd stuck his hand in raising the Winchester boys. "Sorry, Bobby. Thought you woulda heard me coming a mile away, being such a skilled hunter." He smirked. "Or are the glory days behind you?"

Bobby snorted. "Don't need none of your sass, either. I could track your ass any day of the week."

Dean laughed and circled around to peer in at what Bobby'd been working on. "Engine rebuild?"

Bobby nodded. "Just having a look before pulling out the block to see what else'll need to go. Fella cross the county line pulled her outta a barn, and she sure ain't what she used to be."

"Need a hand?" In another lifetime Dean wouldn't have felt the need to ask first.

"You know anything about cars?"

Dean's grin disappeared, but he swallowed down the disappointment and recovered as much of his mood as he could. "Hell yeah. Anything my dad forgot to teach me about 'em, you filled in the gaps yourself. Rebuilt the Impala on my own from the ground up right here in your yard after..."

Bobby was staring at him.

His face reddened. "I mean...I remember the build...so I guess I know..."

Bobby cleared his throat, aware he'd upset the transformed young man with his question, but unsure how he could have prevented it. He'd only met the guy that morning. Taking pity, he reasoned, "Look, I might have gnats in my kitchen older'n you from my point of view, but my point of view don't matter right now. That Guardian magicked you up a past, and until we get this sorted out, that's what you've got to go on. So don't mind me, and don't go trying to analyze every little bit of what's real and what ain't. Just play the hand yer dealt, and be yerself for now."

Dean heard the underlying message there. _Enjoy being human while you can, cause chances are we're gonna have to break this curse._ Even so, he was grateful for Bobby's words. Bobby wasn't trying ignore where facts were leading like Sam was, and he wasn't interested in treating Dean's feelings with kid gloves either. He gave an appreciative half-smile. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Shaddup. Grab a wrench and show me what you've got."

The younger hunter grinned again. "Yes, sir!"

They stayed out there a few hours, and Dean found his comfort zone over the old Hemi engine. Despite Bobby's warning not to over-analyze, what started as comfortable silence did eventually turn into a compare and contrast of their memories. Talking seemed easier now that his hands were busy.

It started off with a question about who'd rebuilt the Impala after the crash. Turned out there'd never been a wreck at all.

In that cabin with Azazel, a snarling, fur-on-end Dean had been the alert that the demon was possessing John. Sam had taken the brunt of the demon's torture until finally Azazel picked up the colt, threatening to find out what happened when you used it on a human. John, unwilling to call the bluff, fought Azazel for control with everything he had, trying to turn the gun on himself instead of his son, but it went off.

Sam was hit, and the bullet wound, although a chest shot, miraculously wasn't immediately fatal. Azazel smoked out of John's body into the night, and John's heart had nearly stuttered to a halt before he realized the colt's deadliness hadn't been total. The answer had been in the gun's chamber, when he snapped it open to find ordinary bullets instead of the special ones created by Colt, which he'd later found discarded by Azazel in his pocket while he was rushing his dying son to the hospital.

They arrived safely, but the prognosis for Sam wasn't good. At some point in the flurry of ER activity, John had disappeared, and shortly after his return, Sam began an inexplicable recovery, only to watch John succumb to an apparent heart attack. The story was so similar...it gave Dean shivers at how neatly his human self had been written into it.

Interestingly, but not surprisingly, it wasn't until John's death that Sam had taken possession of the car. Bobby remembered the Impala pulling into the salvage yard, Sam at the wheel and Dean curled in the backseat to deliver him the news.

Besides the differences in their hunts, Dean couldn't resist asking what Bobby remembered about their personal lives. Bobby was close enough to the family of two to have details.

He learned that young Sam'd spent far more time under the watchful eyes of the hunters John knew with permanent home bases, without Dean around as a built-in babysitter. Pastor Jim, Bobby, a couple hunters Dean didn't remember at all, and even Ellen had all housed the young Winchester boy during some of John's earlier hunts before John decided Sam was old enough to leave on his own.

John had also carted Sam along on some trips that Dean remembered being left behind for, resulting in even more moves between schools, and, for a three month period, some time in foster care when CPS got a little too interested.  
Bobby'd apparently also noticed some changes to Sam himself pre and post curse. He admitted Sam seemed a little less hardened. The Sam he knew had a short temper-no real difference there-but had always had trouble relating to other people. Bobby said he was a loner with a bit of a reckless streak.

"Today, with you around, he seems more well-adjusted and, I dunno, more alive," the veteran hunter told Dean while picking through a box of wrenches. "His limp's gone, too."

"His what?" Dean looked up from the rusted carburetor.

Bobby glanced over at Dean's baffled face. "Oh, well, I guess you wouldn't know if it was one o' the things that changed. When Sam was a kid yer fool dad had him at some motel on a hunt he had no business bringing a six year old near. Told Sam to lock the door behind him, and while John was checkin' out the other side of the place, the monster got in their room somehow. Sam shouted an' fought like crazy, and John went runnin' back, but the idjit had forgotten his damn key and it took him just a little too long to break the door down and chase off the thing. Sam was mostly fine, but his left knee got roughed up pretty bad in the scuffle, and he's had a tiny bit of a limp ever since. Some kind of ligament thing."

Dean hadn't moved during the story. He told himself it could've been anywhere, been any fugly, but... _Could it be?_ Could the hunt he'd beat himself up over for years have actually gone better with him there instead of John?

"Bobby, the monster-what was dad hunting?" Crap, why did his voice have to come out so strained?

Bobby scratched at the scruff on his jaw. "I know it was something that went after children. John always got extra worked up over cases with kids. I think it was a shtriga. You okay, boy?"

_Holy crap._ Some knot that had been buried deep inside him for too many years loosened just a little. Dean nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Fine."

"Sure ya are." Bobby eyed him shrewdly. He put down the part he was working on and wiped his hands on a rag before tossing the cloth to Dean. "I think that's enough storytelling for tonight, and it's almost eleven. Let's go clean up and try to pry Sam off my desk."

While they walked back to the house, Dean couldn't help wondering about the selection process for the memories the Guardian had given him. If he were going to build a fresh past for someone, he liked to think he'd fill it with good things. He'd imagined the ghost-witch'd given him a rough history because a Winchester had to have a life full of painful shit to make it believable.

But what did it mean if some small things had changed for the better? Coincidence? Temptation?

He couldn't afford to think on it. Not until they found the curse.

They tromped inside, Bobby going straight for the stairs while Dean wandered into the study, and Sam barely raised his head. "Hey. Nothing concrete yet, but I think I'm at least looking in the right direction." He had a pad of paper on the desktop next to him with a discouragingly meager amount of note-taking on it. "Where've you been?"

"In freaking It's a Wonderful Life." Dean mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You smell like gasoline," Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Perfume of the gods, Sammy. You know you love it."

Feeling somewhat renewed by the physical work on the car, Dean figured he owed Sam a little research help before bed.

With a sigh, he plopped onto the couch and dragged a book onto his lap. _Transmogrification Studies in Ancient Religion and Custom_. If only he wasn't researching himself.

* * *

_More to come! Please keep leaving those reviews!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: This is the chapter I've been looking forward to posting. I could probably keep editing it to death a while longer, but it's time to let it go! Thank you so much to those who've reviewed! I love reading your comments, and I hope you enjoy this installment. _

_Usual Disclaimer: I don't own them of course; just the idea. I also know nothing about Sauk superstition and culture but what I've read online and twisted for my purposes. Forgive my ignorance. _

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Bobby discovered Dean slouched at the cluttered kitchen table at eight Saturday morning over a mug of hot black store-brand coffee. "Don't think dogs are s'posed to have caffeine," he quipped.

"Bite me."

Bobby chuckled and grabbed a mug out of the sink to pour himself a cup. "How late were you two up researching last night?"

Dean shrugged. "I went to bed around one. Dunno how late Sam was up." He jerked his head towards the study. "He's back at it already, but he's wearing different clothes, so I figure he must've slept at some point."

"He was at the desk when I went out to the yard an hour ago." Bobby put the mug to his lips, then looked into its contents with a frown and dumped the whole thing back into the sink. He got a clean mug from the cabinet and re-poured. "That boy's determined to find proof you ain't dangerous. I take it there haven't been any breakthroughs."

Dean's only reply was to take a long sip of his own coffee, letting it burn his throat. He hadn't missed how obsessed Sam was acting, but he didn't think his pseudo-brother would find what he hoped to. The curse couldn't have changed the Winchester world so much that their luck would suddenly turn good. He fiddled with the edge of the cheap plastic placemat in front of him, feeling moody.

Bobby's eyes followed the motion of Dean's fingers. His brow furrowed and he scanned the rest of the small table like something was missing.

"Huh."

"What?"

"I think we can safely say the curse is strong enough to affect physical items around you," Bobby smirked. "Before you got here one of these placemats was missing a whole corner.

Dean's expression invited Bobby to keep talking, cause he didn't see why this mattered.

"A while back Sam was here and you with him. I made cheeseburgers and made the mistake o' leaving a plate too close to the edge o' the table. You got yer paws up and chowed down. Ate right through the mat while you were at it."

Dean stared. "Am I supposed to apologize or something?"

"Just makin' note of how powerful the magic is we're dealing with. This wasn't a one-shot deal. It's active, and changing the world around you to fit your existence in."

The younger hunter snorted, unimpressed. As if his lifetime of freshly minted memories wasn't enough to let him know they were dealing with some major mojo.

One of the labelled phones jangled, leaving a couple minutes of relative peace while Bobby lectured into his CDC phone. He slammed it down with a snarl after a few final choice words, and then chuckled. "I never do mind giving those know it alls in white coats a good dressing down. Do 'em good."

He held a slip of paper he'd scribbled a note on during the call out to Dean. "Wherever you put the book that was on that chair 'fore you plunked yerself down, stick that inside it, would'ya?"

Bobby turned to suss out some breakfast while Dean felt about under the table for the book he'd chucked out of his way earlier.

Bobby took a look under the lid of a small pot sitting on the stove and discovered slowly congealing oatmeal. Sam's, no doubt. He tipped the pot towards Dean questioningly in case this transformed version of the mutt he'd known had his new brother's tastes in food. Dean craned his neck to see into the pot from where he sat, and made the exact same face Bobby had managed to constrain.

"Sam thinks it's good on cold mornings. Don't ask me why. Fortunately the Guardian made me more of a bacon kind of guy, so that's one thing I can't complain about."

Bobby slapped the lid back over the mess for the youngest Winchester to deal with later, took a quick inventory of his freezer supply, and took a cast iron skillet off a hook on the wall. The skillet clattered onto the stove with a scrape against the burner that made Dean's teeth ache.

"Deer sausage alright?"

"Deer sausage?"

"Y'know, creepy crawlies from hell ain't the only kind of hunting, son."

His eyes rolled, but Dean felt a little rise of warmth at being called 'son.' Funny how it meant more to him now than he remembered it meaning before. "Deer sausage it is, then," he said, and Bobby set to work.

As the meat started to spit grease in the pan, Bobby mentioned casually, "I called Ellen yesterday while you'n Sam were gossiping. Asked her if she'd heard from Sam lately, and if she knew he'd taken on a hunting partner. She said as far as she knew he was still working a one man show." Bobby paused to flip the sausage patties.

"So then I mentioned your name, and as pretty as you please she's talking about the Winchester brothers natural as can be like she's never known any different. Creepy as hell to hear it happen, but that's one thorough curse."

Dean's stomach sank a little, Bobby's underlying message clear. _Damn, it sucks being the reason for the hunt when news like that just keeps coming_.

An active curse was one thing when it was impacting his immediate vicinity, but to be able to affect people through a phone line from 300 miles away just by using his name? It ratcheted the whole thing up a notch or five on the power scale. And made it that much more unlikely they'd be able to stick their amateur hands in and "safety proof" the curse like Sam was hoping to do.

The search wasn't done yet, and wouldn't be until one of Bobby's books yielded up the answers they needed, but cold hard reality was leading in a likely direction.

* * *

The next few days Sam was consumed by research. Dean helped on and off, but mostly he stayed out of Sam's way. He couldn't seem to focus very well, cause his mind kept wandering. It was as if finding out his life had never happened was suddenly permission for every half-forgotten fake-memory to come floating back to the surface. He wasn't feeling sorry for himself, though. He wasn't.

He thought about heading off to find some dangerous hunt. One he couldn't hope to take on solo, just so he could go out like a hunter if this was indeed it for him. But he couldn't do that to Sam.

So he spent most of his time with the car in Bobby's garage, letting his mind turn off while his hands too over. Sometimes Bobby joined him, when he took a break from helping Sam. They talked now and then, but the closeness Dean was used to was missing, making it awkward. Bobby wasn't the paternal figure Dean remembered him being, and to Bobby, Dean was still an enchanted dog. So mostly they worked in comfortable silence.

Conversations with Sam were uncomfortable too.

Dean just wanted to pretend things were normal, to enjoy the time he had on two feet like Bobby had suggested. Sam tried, but he either would over-do it, or he'd keep getting this half heartbroken, half constipated look on his face. When that happened, he'd start trying to talk about feelings, or begin apologizing for a situation neither of them had any control over. That was when Dean usually had to walk away.

One afternoon when he was in a rare mood for some conversation, Dean found his brother taking a break on the porch. He sidled up to railing and handed Sam one of the beers he'd snagged from the fridge on his way outside.

"I asked Bobby how some of the stuff we remember really went."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Most of it's not that different." Dean sipped his beer, and they stared shoulder to shoulder out into the frozen yard. "Hey, did you know you used to have a limp?"

Sam turned and raised an eyebrow. "Really? From what?"

"Some monster when you were a kid. It's not important."

Sam eyed him knowingly. "It was something you saved me from, wasn't it? That's why I don't have it now?"

Dean shrugged.

"That's proof I'm better off with you around, y'know," Sam grinned.

"Who ever doubted it? You're so accident prone; without me around, you're lucky it was just a limp." Dean smirked, but the smirk slid off a second later, cause, yeah, with this curse hanging over their heads, he definitely was having his doubts.

He tried to change the subject. "Y'know you must be one of the stubbornest bastards to get yourself to Stanford without me around?"

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was a bad idea.

Sam went rigid at the hot button topic. "I got myself there! You're not seriously trying to take credit for me making it to college are you?" he snapped, offended.

Dean looked placatingly at his hot-tempered brother, holding both hands up, just a touch sadly. "Easy, Sam." He'd never wanted college for himself and taking care of Sam had been a willing chore, but he wasn't totally unaware of the childhood fake-him had given up so Sam could have his shot at a life. Dean had his own version of normal; it wasn't bad, and if it meant Sam got what he wanted, then he'd done his job right.

Knowing none of it was real made him uncommonly honest all of a sudden. "Don't get me wrong, you did the work; you earned it. But I tried my damnedest to smooth the way for you. I kept your life normal as I could as long as I could...wasn't perfect, but I did the best I knew how. And Dad had me to help with hunting, so he didn't mind so much letting you spend time at the library or playing soccer."

Sam's expression was calming, and Dean knew he was listening.

Dean took a deep breath. "So...with just one son? Picture it - no buffer between you and him? The only one he could train for the hunt, and you _still_ made time to get your giant brain to school? I'm trying to give you a compliment here, Sammy. You must've never needed me as much as I thought." Dean's grin was a proud but bittersweet one.

Sam was quiet. He wanted to reassure his older brother that he'd always need him, was screaming it inside his own head, but his stupid pride wouldn't let him deny Dean's words. Fixing this spell would have to be the way he showed his brother the truth.

They both drank long and deep from their beers, and they both knew the other was using it as an excuse not to talk.

Dean snorted to himself, and didn't explain when Sam looked at him. _Our lives couldn't be anything _but _fictional to be this dysfunctional._

* * *

It was late at night Tuesday when Bobby had his eureka moment.

"Here it is," he announced, coming into the study to land an open book on the desk in front of Sam. Dean sat up from his place dozing on the couch, coming fully awake with a hunter's reactivity.

Sam grabbed at the book. "You found the curse?"

"Sort of." Bobby hedged, slinging a glance over at Dean. His face wasn't exactly telegraphing good news. "It's definitely about the magic used by the guardian you saw, and it's got accounts there about turning creatures into men. Same old warnings as the other books about the power of nature not being evil, but not good either."

He waited, giving Sam a chance to read discover for himself what was written in the pages. Dean remained quiet on the couch, withholding any reaction while he watched his brother's face.

At the desk, Sam was anxiously eating up the words. His eyes lit up when he found the relevant section, and then Dean watched the excitement slowly die as Sam read through the paragraphs. He lowered his eyes and ran a hand across his mouth, figuring he had his answer.

Sam frowned. "Bobby, there's nothing here about the spell being used to create family members."

The older hunter knew the youngest Winchester had wanted better news. The spell had a firm hold on his head, leaving him convinced a human Dean was worth preserving over the pet he couldn't remember. Bobby felt a moment of regret for the happy, loyal shepherd that hadn't asked to be stuck in the middle of this. Everything about the situation was emotionally-charged. He'd need to tread softly, and his voice reflected it.

"I know, Sam. The spell is used to create warriors completely loyal to their maker. It's not about mindless protection or guardianship though - these warriors are given personalities. They don't know what they are or what they're for until it's too late. The Sauk have a history of being driven away from their land by other tribes and then the French. They tended to know when they were outmatched and were fans of subtle tactics. The lore in that book talks about this kind of warrior becoming a popular weapon. They can be inserted into enemy camps until..."

Dean's eyes were narrow, no emotions betrayed. "So we have our answer."

Sam slammed the book shut. "No! We don't, Dean. It's not the right spell."

"It is, Sam," Bobby sounded sympathetic but firm. "You read it. Everything fits."

"Sam?" Dean finally spoke. "Is he right?"

"No," Sam repeated insistently. Then his eyes met Dean's, and he could see them searching his for the truth. He crumbled. "I- I mean, okay, yeah."

"Which is it?" Dean practically growled.

"It's the right spell." Sam looked like the words were poison on his tongue. "But we can't be sure what the motive was."

"Sammy, you were screwing around in a guardian spirit's territory. You're the enemy, and she sent me right under your defenses." Dean turned to Bobby. "You find anything about the spell being used for any other reason?"

A head shake. "Not a thing. It's pretty straightforward."

"Can it be broken?"

Bobby nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard. I have everything we'd need. I could do it tonight."

"There you go." Dean's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly.

Since Friday, he'd been prepping himself for "Dean Winchester" to have a limited time engagement. If there was one thing he was an ace at, it was burying his feelings to save himself the hurt. Better to board up the windows and prepare for the worst than to let the storm shatter him when it hit.

He hadn't planned on how depressing it would feel to be proven right.

With the sinking feeling in his gut, Dean suddenly realized despite all his pessimism, he really had been hoping for Sam to find the one elusive answer allowing them to spin this whole thing into a positive. Preferably one where he didn't have to turn back into Fido.

He was chock full of memories where suicide mission after no-win scenario after lawman-has-us-by-the-short-and-curlies-this-time, somehow wound around to eking out a Hail Mary win at the last second. His subconscious was hoping to strike lucky again, but now that wasn't going to be the case.

"Seems to me there's only two ways this is gonna go. We break the spell and turn me back, or some night when Sam's guard is down, I go Krueger on him."

Sam was still trying to see a way around the inevitable.

"Maybe there's another way. Something we can do just to eliminate the control aspect."

Dean sent a wordless question to Bobby.

"I did some research before I showed you the book. The sleeper task of the spell's subject is locked in at the casting. You can't undo it without undoing the rest of their personality."

"Right. So we break the spell." Dean cut off Sam's next protest. "You know I don't wanna be any bitch's bitch."

"Dean, _please_," Sam's expression was getting desperate. "You've got to give me time to find another solution!"

"There's not gonna be another way, Sam. This is it."

"No. Something's off, I know it. Please just let me have a couple more days."

Dean's mouth was a grim line, and he wouldn't look at Sam.

"You coward."

Now he looked at him. "Excuse me?"

Sam's distress had twisted into anger in the minute he'd looked away. Bobby retreated slowly to hover by the kitchen doorway. Out of the way of the fireworks, but close enough to intervene if absolutely necessary.

"You heard me. You're such a coward. This spell is giving you a way out, and you don't have to lift a finger. It sucks knowing Dean Winchester has only existed for five freaking days, I get it. But you know what? It doesn't matter! You exist now, and if you throw that away, if you let Bobby change you back, all it is is assisted suicide!"

"Are you done?" Dean's voice was icy.

Sam glared. "Depends on if you heard me. Cause I'm not letting you give up like this."

"Dammit, Sam, I'm not _giving up!_ We wanted to find the spell, and we did. You just don't like the answer, so all you're gonna do is drag things out."

"It's nowhere near clear enough. I can find another-"

"Right there in black and white it says that my only purpose is to fight for my maker," Dean cut him off. "Who happens to be the bitch in the woods. Who could use her bat-signal any day now to _instruct_ me to kill you. And I would." His voice turned tired. "That's not giving up, cause fuck knows I'd rather not go out like this. Whatever else she buried in my head, I'm a hunter, and I'm your brother. And my number one directive right now is to protect your ass. So before she gets her hooks in and turns me into something else I'm not, I'm gonna do my job one last time. You gotta let it happen, Sammy."

Sam ran the back of his hand harshly across his eyes and nose, looking anywhere but at Dean. When he finally drew a deep breath and returned Dean's gaze, his eyes were wet.

"I _can't_."

The words were choked, barely audible and filling the kitchen at the same time.

"You will, cause this is it. No other choice. Shit, Sam, don't you realize the only reason you even care is because of the spell?"

They both knew it was technically true. Sam's face tightened and he bit his cheek as he tried fruitlessly to come up with a counterpoint. "It doesn't matter," he finally repeated the only argument he had. "You're here now, and I do care. You're my brother."

Dean shook his head slowly at the floor. "No I'm _not_. I'd win one hell of a prize at a costume contest right now, but that's all this is - a costume, Sam, and you gotta pull it together and see through it. I'm your _dog_. All the rest of this?" he spun a finger around the room and then jabbed it at Sam. "None of it's natural. You're a hunter. Do your job."

"It was never that black and white for me, you know that. You and Dad thought that way, but not me. I have a more open mind."

"Yeah? Well your open mind is going to get you killed."

"Not if I can find a way to make you safe!"

Dean used a fling of an arm and an 'are you kidding' expression to gesture his disbelief in Sam's stubbornness and remind him of the conversation they'd just had wherein "the purpose and personality of the subject is set during the spell casting, and can't be altered" had featured pretty definitively.

"Two more days, Dean. Please. It'll be safe for just a couple days, and it'll give me a chance."

They stared at each other a long moment, Sam pleading, Dean resolute. It was stalemate with neither willing to give ground.

At last Dean nodded once, capitulating.

Sam's tense shoulders slumped with relief. "I promise you, Dean, there's something we're not seeing. I'm going to find out what."

The tension in Dean's shoulders remained, but he allowed his voice to soften.

"Go to bed, gigantor. You look awful."

Sam looked about to argue; ready to make good on his promise to find another spell right that second, but he turned to the stairs obediently, exhaustion and relief taking the last of the fight out of him. _Tomorrow. I'll start again first thing tomorrow._

Dean and Bobby watched him disappear in silence. When they heard the faucet start to run in the upstairs bathroom, Bobby beckoned Dean after him into the kitchen without a word. Dean followed and collapsed into a chair at the table. His hooded eyes followed Bobby as he went to dig inside a cabinet and emerged with a familiar looking bottle and two glasses. The older hunter joined Dean at the table and poured out generously.

As the whiskey swirled into the glass in front of Dean, his heart rate had a chance to slow. _Damnit, Sam, I'd do anything for you, but you can't ask me to be the thing putting you at risk._

Across from Dean, Bobby took a sip and set his glass back on the table, slowly spinning it with one hand on top of the placemat, a frown furrowed between his eyes.

It was a toss-up which one of them would break the silence first as it dragged out.

The faucet shut off upstairs, and the ceiling overhead creaked as the old wood floors bore Sam's weight in the direction of the bathroom.

The heater ticked on.

"There's nothing left in those books to find. It's gotta be done; you know that, right?"

"I do, but I'm a little surprised to hear you sayin' so." Bobby eyed Dean. "Thought you'd want to stay human."

Dean glared at his hands and flexed them, as if already imagining them changing to paws. "Course I do, Bobby; wouldn't you? It's all I remember."

Dean spent a moment enjoying the feeling of warm air flowing from the floor vent under the table over his socked feet. He ran his right foot a little to the side and found the spot where a piece of the linoleum was peeling up right where he knew it'd be. _How can a fake life have so many details?_ So familiar and tempting. "But nothing about it's normal. I've spent-" he choked and cut himself off. "I _thought_ I'd spent my whole damn life fighting shit like this. Now _I'm_ the hunt. I gotta do what I remember training to do."

"That the only reason?"

Dean's worried eyes met Bobby's. "Just like I told Sam. What if I am under the guardian's control? We both know it's more than likely. I'd rather not be a dog of all things, but I refuse to be some spirit-bitch's puppet. And I can't take the risk I'll wind up hurting Sam somehow. Deep down, Sam knows it too."

Bobby had to agree. "When?"

"In the morning. Before Sam's up."

Bobby's eyes widened in surprise, and he glanced towards the stairs. "You're not gonna tell him? Say goodbye?"

If the older hunter was judging Dean for breaking his word to Sam, it didn't show on his face.

"Why bother? Once it's done he won't remember." Dean watched the yellow light play through the liquid in his glass and then quickly downed the whiskey. "Nah-this is easier. He'll keep fighting it otherwise. Best to just put things back to normal as fast as possible."

Dean was trying hard to appear unbothered. Bobby wasn't buying it, but he didn't call him on it either. He poured another shot into both their glasses.

Dean's chair creaked in protest as he shifted a bit. He was biting at his tongue, unsure how to bring up what he knew he needed to say, and it took a minute before he got a running start at blurting out his concern. "There's something I gotta warn you about. I can't tell Sam, and you can't either."

"Do I look like a biddy at a Sunday school picnic to you? As long as not knowing won't put him in danger, I know how to keep my lip zipped."

"I don't know if he's in danger or not," Dean flinched. "I don't know enough to tell you. But there's a memory I have that Sam doesn't about when our - I mean Sam's - dad died. And no matter how different things were before this spell, I don't think that Sam knew about this then either. It might be important, so I gotta tell someone who's gonna remember."

"Tell me what, boy?"

"Dad told me...he told me that I was gonna have to save Sam. He never told me from what, but he said if I couldn't, that I'd have to..." Dean looked anxiously towards the stairs again, but Sam didn't suddenly spring out to catch them in conversation. He still spoke nearly in a whisper. "He said I'd have to kill him."

Bobby's eyebrows started telegraphing something halfway between shock and anger. "He said _what?_"

"He said-"

"Aw, hush, I heard you," he frowned. "It's a planted memory, it probably means nothin."

"Man, Bobby, I hope to God that's true. Hell, for all I know it's a set up. Maybe it's part of the reason I was turned human; some hint of the ulterior motive or my programming or whatever."

Dean paused. He thought about knowing which spot in Bobby's foyer creaked loudest, about the loose linoleum...Sam's eating habits. He'd been figuring that building memories from scratch was hard work, and maybe part of the spell let the little stuff get filled in by the histories of the people around him. _There are so many details in my head that are right. What if this is one of them?_ He told Bobby as much. "There's just this feeling in my gut that it's more than that."

"And don't you think that feeling might be manufactured too?"

"I guess it could be... Point is, I don't have a clue how it all works, but it's in there all the same." Dean made sure he had Bobby's full attention. "This's been my load, and I'm not gonna be around anymore. So now it's yours. You won't do any worse than me at figuring it out."

Bobby's bottom lip curled into a frown. "I'll do what I can to look into it. And I won't tell Sam unless I have to."

"Thanks."

"After the curse memories are gone and he goes back to normal what d'ya want me to tell Sam 'bout why he's here at my place?"

Dean shrugged. "Make something up. Or the truth. Shouldn't make a difference to him by then anyways. He'll have his dog back and neither of us will know any better."

Bobby regarded Dean astutely, his sharp hunter mind having put together a pretty clear picture of the man Dean had become from the little he'd seen. It was obvious he wasn't enthusiastic about the breaking of the curse. But he was selflessly willing to go through with it anyway, knowing it was the way to put things right. "Yer a good kid, and you'd be a hell of a hunter if things were different."

He raised his glass, and Dean obliged in the toast, wordlessly accepting the compliment for what it was. They drank together.

"I'll get things ready. We'll do it in the study at six AM."

Dean's eyes followed the back of Bobby's head as the man left the kitchen.

He snatched the whiskey bottle off the table and took a deep slug without bothering with a glass. He thought about getting shitfaced, but put the bottle down again reluctantly. That _would_ be cowardly. _Face the end like a man, Winchester._

Heh_. While you still can._

Unconsciously, he found himself moving up the stairs to the room he and Sam shared. The door was shut. Not surprising considering how upset Sam had been earlier. He put his hand on the knob and hesitated. If he went in and Sam was still awake, he could expect a round two lecture accompanied by annoyingly pleading eyes tempting him to ignore the inevitable danger that would come from staying human. It was bad enough some of their last words to each other had been an argument...he didn't have the energy to fight again tonight.

Or if Sam was asleep...

Behind that thin wood was the only thing that mattered in his pitiful excuse for a life; what if he went in, laid down in the bed next to Sam's like he'd done every night when they were kids and lost all his resolve? After all, who'd watch out for Sammy once he was gone?

No. Dean dropped his hand and backed away from the door. He couldn't lose focus on the reality of the situation.

His memories included a fling with a hot bartender not far from here. Maybe he should go into town; find out if she really existed?

He wasn't in the mood.

He turned and went back down the stairs, heavy steps taking him through the study and out the front door to the porch. Looking out into the salvage yard, he smiled. If there was ever a doubt of where to spend his last night...

He went down the porch steps and crunched across the gravel. He opened the door of the Impala and eased through the door, sinking onto the comfortably worn leather of a seat molded to fit him perfectly over year after year and mile after mile of highway. He ran his hand over the dashboard, suddenly thankful for the aspect of the curse that had adjusted his material world.

"You know me, dontcha, Baby?"

His hands found the steering wheel and he ran them along its familiar curve. He wanted to turn his key in the ignition, hear her roar and pop in a cassette, but Baby wasn't a quiet car, and the rumble of her engine'd probably wake up the house.

He'd have to be content tonight with the feeling of _home_ she gave him.

He breathed in deeply, savoring the mix of smells. Leather cleaner, lingering fast food, Sam's girly cologne...a trace of gun oil, lighter fluid and sweat. Their life stories were in this car, testified through the air alone. Sitting there, he found it harder to believe there was any lie at all in the miles of history.

Why hadn't he just told Bobby to do the spell then and there? Waiting alone with his thoughts was a unique kind of torture. Bring on oblivion beneath the untroubled mind of a German Shepard.

He was ready...and he'd never be ready. Human, he'd live never sure of what evil purpose he was meant for or when he might turn on Sammy. Unacceptable. Giving up his life as Sam's big brother, always there to look out for him? Almost equally unacceptable. Almost.

The danger to Sam tipped the scales, as it always would. He remembered saving Sammy's ass a hundred times. At least this way he'd have a chance to do it once for real.

Dean didn't sleep. He moved at one point to lay on the Impala's hood, staring at the stars. He closed his eyes and imagined the car was parked in a field hidden somewhere from the world, and that Sam was there beside him, sharing a six-pack and enjoying the night together without a word.

Sometime after three he climbed back into the car. He tried to think about what life was like for an animal; wondered what kind of consciousness they had, then decided he didn't want to think about it anymore. Instead he thought about Lawrence before the fire, and the times here and there on the road when things had been good. When they'd been a family.

Dawn crept towards the horizon far too quickly.

He glanced at his watch. Five twenty-six.

He thought about writing Sam a note, started planning what he'd say in his head, then nixed the idea. It probably wouldn't survive the spell, and even if it did, what would Sam care about a letter from some guy claiming to be a brother that didn't exist, anyway?

He looked back at his watch. Five twenty-nine. Ugh, it was like some kind of perverted countdown.

He tried to wait it out a little longer, but he felt like he had ants crawling under his skin. This close, the anxiety was too much. What if he just put the car in drive, and...

He flung himself out of the driver's door and stalked away up to the porch. _Bobby had better be ready, cause it's time_, he decided. He turned before going inside to take one last look at his baby, the pre-dawn light just barely starting to make her chrome glow. He soaked in the view, imagining he saw Sam in the passenger seat for a split second.

He smiled.

He could do this. He was ready.

Dean slipped in Bobby's door and was greeted with the sight of spell paraphernalia spread out ready and waiting.

Did he say he was ready? Like hell.

Still, he took a deep breath and entered the study.

Bobby looked up from the desk, and only looked a little surprised to see him come in early. The clench in Dean's jaw was all Bobby needed to see to know it was time.

He got up and walked Dean through the basics of the spell, no extra words needed at this point. "Last chance to back out."

Dean looked at him sideways. "And what would you say if I tried to?"

"I'd have to talk you back into it," Bobby drawled honestly.

Dean smirked and nodded, glad that he and Bobby were of one mind on this.

The older hunter moved towards the center of the room. "Let's get it done, then."

"Maybe," Dean's voice nearly betrayed the fear he refused to show, "maybe it'll be nice. Being the one taken care of for a change; not having anything to worry about? Maybe it'll be kinda peaceful."

"Maybe so," Bobby agreed. "I'll make sure Sam takes real good care of you."

"And you'll have Sam's back, right? I mean, I know he'll take me hunting with him, but there's lots a dog can't do. I need your promise, Bobby."

"You've got it." He swallowed tightly despite his resolute words of just a moment ago. He held out a hand, hoping the kid would take it for what is was meant - not just an agreement, but respect for a fellow hunter, no matter how briefly he'd been one.

Dean took the offered hand and clasped it tightly. He wasn't sure what Bobby was feeling from his side, but for Dean, he was saying goodbye to a surrogate father. There was a knot in his throat so big he didn't understand how he was breathing past it. On the surface he was calm, focused. A hunter couldn't afford to be anything else.

Bobby hadn't expected to feel like he was putting someone to a kind of death. Someone that he'd started to like pretty well in the last few days. But in a way that's what would happen. Dean the man-the brother, the son-would cease to be as soon as a lifetime's worth of fabricated memories were erased, and Dean the dog, innocent and unaware, would be left.

He steeled himself. He hadn't become a hunter expecting it to be easy. Sometimes there were hard choices to make, and Bobby had seen his share. This was one of those times, but willingly letting a curse run its course was never a good move, and this was the way things were supposed to be, he reminded himself for the hundredth time since last night.

Bobby instructed Dean to take a seat in the center of the ring of hickory ash he'd set up, which Dean did with a face set with determination. Sam would be waking soon-they had to hurry.

Their eyes met one last time, silently agreeing that neither had a doubt over what they were about to do.

Bobby lit the bowl of nettle, dried cornflower and hickory bark and let the smell of its smoke fill the air.

Then he started to chant.

* * *

_Please, please review! _


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